


The Only Claim He Cared To Take

by MischaPetrovna



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Jon Snow, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jealous Jon Snow, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jonrya Week 2020, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24676582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischaPetrovna/pseuds/MischaPetrovna
Summary: **COMPLETED**Many edits to the first chapter to better convey the story I wanted to share--if you've read this one already, I implore you to read again. I must warn you that the dubcon tag remains.Jon Snow took Winterfell back from the Boltons successfully, and was hailed King In The North.Since his death, he's been very much changed--a darkness took over him which powered him up to win The Battle of the Bastards.A matrimonial alliance was arranged between himself and The Dragon Queen from Essos in order to avenge the losses of his family by joining forces in order to depose the Lannister Queen.But will Arya's return change the plans?Jonrya Week Day 3 - Guilt | Sin
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark
Comments: 47
Kudos: 156
Collections: Jonrya Week, Jonrya Week: A Dream of Spring





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I suck at summaries--and I know that this is late.  
> But I hope you enjoy it any way. :)

Arya’s pleasure peaked just as The King In the North finished inside her womb with a possessive growl--loud enough for all of the North to hear.    
  
Jon slowly withdrew his fingers from her mouth as he unmounted his cock from her shaven cunt, hungrily seeking the sight of his seed as it overflowed from her silky folds. He never smiled anymore, yet his face reflected triumph. He firmly held her legs wide apart for some moments before he used the pads of his digits to spread his wasted juices on top of her firm belly and her full breasts.   
  
It’s been a ritual of his, his way of marking her, she supposed. He would soon touch her lips with same moist fingers and leave her bed to dress without a word shortly after.    
  
She had asked him to not spill inside of her especially today, for it was her fertile period and he admonished the last servant who had made her moon tea. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to her when this request fell on deaf ears.    
  
Arya returned to Winterfell when she discovered that her favorite brother had been made King In the North after taking the castle back from Ramsay Bolton. She still believed that it was his love, confidence, devotion and the memory of his smile that enabled her to survive all these years. Jon afterall gave her Needle, the sword that saved her life countless times.    
  
But she didn’t come back to her brother.    
She came back to a King. 

This King almost never smiled. Sansa informed her that when Jon smiled down at her image by the castle doors upon her return--it was the first since they all reunited. After all, they all believed her to be dead, and his relief was immense.

Her first few days back were a bliss. Jon seemed to be as enthusiastic with her presence as she was with him, and they spent most of their days together. Sansa was met with a scathing look when during a family meeting with Bran at their father’s old solar, she brought up that The Dragon Queen was on her way to Winterfell with her army, ready to unite her forces with the North to depose Cersei Lannister at the Red Keep and install herself in her rightful seat.

  
“We should formalize the engagement before we treat…” Sansa started.   
“No.” came Jon’s fast reply.   
Arya’s brows furrowed in confusion but she waited for further elaboration. Underneath the table, Jon reached for her calloused hand and she acquiesced.    
“Jon--this matrimonial alliance will wreak more power once it is announced. Once Cersei has been informed that we have aligned ourselves with the dragons, she will have no choice but to concede. Countless lives will be saved peacefully…” Sansa argued.    
  
“No.” It was Arya this time, her expression determined. “Nothing in this cursed game has ever been won peacefully. That is a child’s ignorant prayer. In the name of Eddard Stark I will take Cersei’s head and mount it on top of a swine for everyone to see.”    
  
Sansa resigned her cause after a warning look from Jon and Bran’s comforting hand.    
  
When Arya seeked Jon’s gaze for approval she was met with a darkly satisfied look of pride.    
  
She should have seen his lust then. 

It wasn’t another week before she figured it out--but the signs were always present. Jon developed a new habit of clasping her face in his palm and many of his kisses would fall upon her lips too long, whether or not they had company, nor if the moment had called for it.    
  
“His affections towards you have caused some of our guests to look twice, sister. It won’t be long before unwanted whispers would begin…” Sansa warned after a quiet supper with the Dragon Queen and her council. Jon had granted them leave to visit the Godswood but he stopped her by the elbow to seek her mouth longingly before letting her go.    
  
“I don’t care about what Southerners gossip. He’s our brother, Sansa. Our affections are that of siblings.” Arya reasoned solidly, though not quite believing herself as well.    
  
“He doesn’t touch Sansa as he touches you. Nor does he look at her as such.” came Bran’s solemn reply, a knowing glance teasing upon his blank stare.    
  
“We are not Lannisters.” Arya argued defensively. “We are definitely not Targaryens.” 

From the corner of her eye, she could’ve sworn that Bran had smiled. 

It happened fast from there on out. 

Bran unveiled Jon’s true identity after a confirmation from Sam and a blood signed letter from Howland Reed. The Dragon Queen was still willing to make an alliance to rule the seven kingdoms together--but Jon refused. He countered her proposal with his own--he will give up his claim to the throne as long as the North stayed independent, and she could have the remaining Six after they sack The Red Keep as planned.    
  
Daenerys Targaryen flatly refused this notion.    
  
But her Dragons did not.    
  
It was really magical--how easily Rhaegal and Viserion switched loyalties upon their confrontation. Drogon remained faithful to their mother--but outnumbered by his brothers, he relented--settling for a standstill. Daenerys also lost Varys and Tyrion in this exchange, the former loyal to Rhaegar and the latter brilliantly commissioned by Sansa Stark--who was still legally his wife.    
  
“Your Grace--” Tyrion reasoned. “A Kingdom of Six with your only kin in the North is a generous compromise. The Crown will remain with the dragons no matter what--we need the North and their new dragons to depose your usurpers.” 

Sansa and Bran stayed in the North while Arya journeyed by herself to the Red Keep. At the height of the battle, she found Cersei Lannister struggling for breath at the highest watch of the Great Sept--with Jaime Lannister’s Widow’s Wail in her chest. Cersei’s twin laid in his own pool of blood, already lifeless--presumably taken by The Mountain, who was taken into his own death moments before by The Hound at the ground.   
  
“Valar Morghulis.” Arya cried as she took half of her father’s greatsword from Cersei’s bleeding chest to slice her neck cleanly. 

  
She fell to her knees as she watched the defeated Queen’s head roll to the corner of the room, exhausted but exhilareted--her purpose seemingly complete.

She hasn’t come down from her high when Jon found her. Both of their armors and skin were sweat and blood stained from battle, their chests heaved breathlessly from exhaustion.

Exhaustion.   
High.   
Desire. 

Is it all the same?    
  
Arya found her answer soon enough.    
  
In four short strides, Jon backed her up against the wall not too far from The Kingslayer’s lifeless body and kissed her hungrily.    
  


It was not a brother’s kiss.    
  
This was a King’s kiss.    
  
Before thoughts could come upon her, Jon’s tongue was already deep inside her mouth and her legs were wrapped around his hips for support. Both Needle and Widow’s Wail lay uselessly on the ground as he swiftly unarmed and undressed her. 

  
Arya managed to push on his chest for breath. “What’s happening? What are you doing?”    
  
Jon snarled and lightly bit the skin between her neck and ear after sucking on her lobe in response. “I am not your brother.”    
  
Arya swallowed as he licked all the exposed parts of her skin, like the Dragonwolf he was. She was covered in soot, sweat and blood yet he hungrily bathed her with his tongue, leaving marks on her throat. 

“I’m not your brother.” he whispered darkly between his ministrations. “I’m not your brother.”    
  
“Don’t…” she managed, and she hated how soft it sounded.

  
He groaned loudly upon feeling his possession between her legs, still covered by the fitted black leather armor that she wore. With miraculously little effort, Jon managed to tear through the middle--creating a lewd hole that gave him access to his goal.    
  
Arya bit her lip in anticipation and Jon’s gaze bore into hers hungrily--it was unnervingly territorial, Arya thought.    
  
Doesn’t he know that she’s always been his?    
  
Arya’s breath hitched when she watched him untie his pants. She looked up at him waringly.    
  
“Kiss me.” he commanded.    
Arya stilled, but she steadied her legs around his hips and wrapped her hands around his neck instinctively for balance.    
Jon coaxed her mouth open with his but parted from her lips by a hair strand.    
“Kiss me.” he whispered on top of her mouth. “Put your tongue inside my mouth and kiss me.”    
  
In a daze, Arya darted her tongue past his teeth and kissed him fervently, her uncharacteristically compliant softness a great contrast to his possessive stance. She didn’t know whether it was caused by the high of killing Cersei--but somehow being claimed by Jon this way seemed like the most natural thing in the world.   
  


Arya gasped when she felt a single finger inside her velvet folds. 

“Don’t deny me.” he whispered between his teeth as he bit on her bottom lip. “I denied myself from you for too long. I will never be denied again. Not even by you.”    
  
A moan escaped Arya’s lips as her hips involuntarily swayed towards Jon’s hand.    
  
“You’ve always been mine--but you were denied from me as your bastard brother. Since I came back from death, I ached for you and only you in my wake.” 

  
He inserted another finger inside of her and Arya arched her back from the wall to press herself further in his palm instinctively.    
  
“I am not your bastard brother, and you belong to me.” he declared as he increased the pace of his invading digits. “You’re dripping. Dripping for me. Only for me.”   
  
“Mine.” he cried when he finally claimed her maiden’s gift. “Mine.” 

The journey back North after the business in the South had been arranged were guilt ridden and relentless for Arya. 

Jon staked his claim on her whenever he could--with no real regard for any decorum. He sought her tent every night and in the rivers when it was time to bathe. Jon fucked her underneath tall trees that served little privacy from the remaining men that they travelled with. 

It terrified Arya at first when Jon came up from behind her when she went near the shaded lake to rinse herself with a towel after their nightly tryst. He rubbed her ass from outside of her pants softly, making his intentions for following her known, but their men’s first camp was still awake and they exchanged stories by the fire not too far from where they were.    
  
“I’ll be back in the tent shortly.” Arya muttered as she twisted the towel, turning to move away from him.   
  
But Jon turned her around to capture her mouth hungrily, not pleased by being refused.    
  
“Don’t deny me.” he whispered above her lips.

  
“I am not denying you!” she hissed. “Our men are nearby and could walk up to us. I can meet you back in the te--”    
  
“We just have to be quiet, don’t we?” Jon whispered mischievously. He turned her around and placed her hands to hold on to the tree facing the nearby camp and bent her over as he slid her pants and bottom small clothes to her ankles. 

Arya’s breath hitched when he felt him kneel behind her and placed a wet kiss on her exposed back side.    
  
She squirmed and turned to him in disbelief. 

“Don’t…” she started, and again hated how soft it sounded.    
  
Jon’s darkened gaze matched his possessive smirk. “I intend to take my time here, love. I’d be keeping watch if I were you.” he warned teasingly. “I can’t guarantee that you won’t howl at the moon after I’m done.”    
  
Jon’s silky tongue generously licked between her cheeks lewdly and her cunt was stuffed with fingers from his free hand, moaning deliriously as he worked. Arya couldn’t help the long moan that escaped her lips when she came, with Jon’s tongue deep inside her ass.   
  
With a proud smirk, Jon paused his ministrations and kissed her mouth hungrily before gently stuffing her crumpled bottoms between her teeth.   
  
“Quiet, love…” he commanded. “Bite on this.” 

Arya winced when she felt a finger inside her backside and looked at him scandalously.    
  
“I want to--all your holes.” He pleaded in her ear. “I need--I need to.”    
  
Arya turned to check if any of the men were nearing--and they weren’t.    
  


They were still nearby though.    
  
After fingering her asshole, and lewd licks to her neck and ear, Jon inserted himself inside of her slowly. He cared to play with Arya’s cunt so she could reach her pleasure again as he pounded, he furthered the cloth inside her mouth with two more fingers with his other hand.    
  
“All of you--all your holes. All mine.” he whispered as he spilled his seed inside her ass.

They never spoke about what they were--but Jon would repeatedly declare that she was his every time he fucked her.   
  
And she let him.    
  
It was as if his command to not deny him was a curse that she had to uphold. 

  
Guilt.    
  
Guilt had been her constant companion for the past six moons, marking their return to the North. Guilt greeted her every time Jon finishes inside her womb, which was every single day, more often that not, multiple times a day--even on her moon days. Guilt kept her company as she watched Jon scold Sansa brutally after bringing up proposals for her own hand. 

“Gendry Baratheon WAS rightfully legitimized for his services, Your Grace.” Sansa reasoned. “I’m already wed, and more alliances must be secured for the North in order to keep our independence. Daenerys has made it clear that she was promised Seven Kingdoms, not Six--we have to be prepared…”    
  
“No.” The King responded, his steely gaze focused on Arya who remained expressionless at the end of the table in between Tyrion and Bran. 

“Arya and Lord Baratheon have been acquainted when she escaped King’s Landing--it’s not as if she would be wed to a stranger.”    
  
Beside him, Ser Davos nodded nervously. “Your Grace, the boy was raised in Flea Bottom as I have--a humble heart to him and a good head. His proposal has been the least ambitious and the most kind…”    
  
“And Arya hasn’t expressed any objection to--”    
  
Sansa stopped speaking as soon as Jon’s goblet hit the steel charger plate on the table loudly.    
  
His eyes were murderous as he seeked Arya’s gaze.    
  


For her part, Arya remained poised and calm as the room silenced naturally. Only on councils involving her did the room have grave tension anyway.    
  
“Is this true?” Jon asked quietly, a storm looming in his voice. 

  
Arya nodded almost immediately. “I have no objections to marrying Gendry.”    
  
“If you’re seeking a death sentence please spare us all.” Tyrion whispered behind his cup.

  
“It’s your wife who needs to back down.” Bran whispered back calmly. “Jon will never hurt Arya, but another word from Sansa and--”    
  
“We can send a raven of your accepta--”    
  
“NO!” Jon growled and the crowd was silenced once again. “I am The King in the North--why have proposals come across your desk? I am still the head of this house!”    
  
Sansa stilled nervously. “I--I thought you were overwhelmed with the proposal ravens, all of them have remained unanswered, so I took the liberty--”    
  
“OF SELLING YOUR SISTER LIKE SOME BROODMARE TO ENSURE OUR INDEPENDENCE? MARRYING HER OFF FAR FROM HOME WHEN WE’VE ALREADY SPENT SO MANY YEARS APART?”    
  


Sansa didn’t back down and faced Jon smugly. “If you hadn’t turned down your own proposals, we could be more secure…”    
  
“Enough.” Jon declared. “All marriage proposals to House Stark will come to my desk from now on and none that have been brought up this evening will be accepted.”    
  
He granted Sansa a scathing glance before turning to the window. “You are all dismissed.”    
  


  
Sansa held her arm as they walked to her chambers. In order to secure his loyalty, Sansa proposed herself to Tyrion, claiming that while their marriage was never consummated, it was never annulled and he should fulfill his obligations as her rightful husband--and they have been together since. They were given an estate not far from Winterfell, for Tyrion remained in Jon’s service in the council.    
  
Sansa turned her nose smugly. “I love him, I do. He was our once brother and he took our home back--but sometimes I feel that his dragon reigns stronger than his wolf.”    
  
Arya said nothing as they approached her chamber door.    
  
“If anyone can convince him to change his mind about these alliances, it would be you. He could never say no to you. I know that he reacted the way he did because of his love for you--he does love you the most and right now I don’t envy that.”    
  
Sansa grasped her hand one more time before she kissed her cheek goodbye.    
  
“Talk to him. Just talk to him.”   


**\---------------------------**

Arya moved to the side of the bed and reached for the washwater inside the steel basin on the floor of her bed and rinsed herself as Jon continued to dress.   
  
She wordlessly ran the towel between her sticky thighs and tried to squeeze out more of Jon’s juices from her womb as her ankles laced the bedskirt.   
  
She felt his disapproving leer before she looked up to meet his dark eyes.    
  
Jon wordlessly moved to sit at the end of the bed and grabbed one of her feet to spread her legs to lay her back down again.    
  
No.    
  
Not today.    
  
“We have to stop this.” Her heart ached as she said the words. 

From the beginning Arya knew that their affair was on borrowed time.    
  
Briefly taken aback but undeterred, Jon started to run his thumbs on both her bare knees, spreading her wide apart.    
  
“No.” he answered.    
  
“I can’t do this anymore.” Arya continued, her eyes pasted on the high ceiling of her room. “I will send my own raven of acceptance to Gendry--”   
  
“Don’t say his name.” he seethed.   
  
“--tomorrow.” she continued as tears threatened her eyes. “We cannot keep living like this. I don’t even know what this is--but it’s not life. I did not survive what I did just to live as The King’s Whore.”   
  
Jon gritted his teeth and gripped her chin to sit up against his towering from. “Never say that again.”   
  
Arya said nothing but met his eyes bravely, determined to end this affair once and for all.    
  
“If he dares to ask for you once more, I will kill him with my bare hands.” Jon whispered furiously. “That goes for any other man that you dare to accept. No other will ever have you.”   
  
“Neither will you.” Arya answered. “You may have had my body to warm the nights, Your Grace--but after tonight, betrothed to another or not--I will no longer be your pleasure hole. I will leave this place as easily as I came and I will not look back. This is our end.” 

Arya had to catch her breath as Jon angrily pushed himself against her to hold her hands on top of her head and he lay between her legs.    
  
He kissed her hungrily, all tongue and teeth.    
Arya turned her head in protest but Jon was relentless as he tongued her mouth savagely. 

“Stop.” she managed, strongly this time. “STOP IT!” 

  
Jon ceased then--with the same fury in his eyes and weight upon her hands. 

“I am not your property. I will not be treated as thus.” Arya continued sternly, voice unwavering. 

At this sentence, Jon released her hands slowly and sat up to allow her relief, not leaving her gaze as she pulled her knees back to her body.    
  
“You aren’t my property.” he whispered. “But you belong to me. You always have--and you will not wed another for as long as I am living. I died for you--I sure as the seven hells will not live without you by my side.”    
  


Arya felt tears threaten her eyes and she placed her forehead on her crossed knees. “This isn’t living. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know who you are--or why I let you have me. But each time that I do--I succumb to the guilt that has been a stranger to me until we started fucking. I can’t do this anymore, we have to stop.”

  
Gentle fingers lifted her face from her knees lovingly, and for the first time since that fateful day at the first tower where she killed Cersei--she found herself in Jon Snow’s gaze.    
  
He kissed her slowly, seeking acceptance.    
And she complied.

  
When he entered her again, his movements were full of devotion and longing. He wiped the tears that covered her face with his thumbs. When she dared to look upon his eyes, she was surprised to see his own glossed over painfully. 

No longer the depraved, possessive King in the North.   
No longer the furious thief in her night and days.   
He was a man starved and fearful.    
  
“Don’t leave me.” Jon pleaded in a desperate whisper as his hard cock moved inside of her slick wet folds. “Don’t leave me.”    
  
Arya didn’t respond, but she kept her legs open as his hips pounded into her core, the words of his plea a painful stab in her heart.    
  
“Arya, please--please tell me you won’t leave me.” he asked again, with soft kisses on her mouth. “Please…”    
  
“Jon…” she whispered as she clasped his jaw with her small hand. “Jon…”   
  
The movement of his hips suddenly increased in a rhythm that was all too familiar for Arya--she followed his pleasure after a few more thrusts--and after he softened, he pulled her into his chest as he lay beside her, fear calmed but still present in his soul.

“Say it again.” he asked, his nose nestled on the top of her head.    
  
Puzzled, Arya looked up from his chest with wonder.    
  
Jon held her chin gently before kissing her again softly, tears present in his eyes. “Do you realize that--that’s the first time you called me by name since we first made love?”    
  
Arya’s eyes widened with the revelation as her fingers played with the short hairs on his chest instinctively. “I--”   
  
“Say it--please.” Jon pleaded.    
  
She looked up at him with tears of her own. “Jon.” 

Jon inhaled the scent on top of her head in brief relief and held her firmly in his arms, and listened to her heart as she slept soundly through the night. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suck at summaries.  
> But consider this the epilogue!
> 
> If you haven't already, I **highly recommend** that you re-read the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been following this story, you'd know that this was originally a one-shot.  
> This is the final conclusion to this tale. 
> 
> Take my two-shot and I hope you enjoy!

Sleep didn’t come upon Jon and before he knew it, sunlight had seeped through the openings of the wooden windows in Arya’s chambers.   
  
He remained motionless throughout the night in order to not disturb her sleep, and she remained in his arms alluringly.   
  
Jon adjusted the furs on the bed to cover Arya as he untangled himself from her slowly. He brushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear before he lowered his face to kiss her gently.   
  
Arya opened her eyes to greet his affections sleepily. “So early.”   
Jon kissed her mouth again. “I have to--I have something I need to do.”   
Arya hummed and she closed her eyes again. “You never just--kiss me without…”   
Jon swallowed her words with his lips. “Arya--don’t… Promise me you won’t…”   
  
Arya bit her lower lip, and without opening her eyes, she nodded.

Jon felt his heart twinge. 

‘She still wants to leave me.’

He was disheartened.   
  
Then his mood darkened. 

  
Jon’s eyes scanned her naked form hungrily as he lifted the covers to peek--the beast in him roared painfully upon the sight of his dried juices on her breasts and closed thighs.   
  
He inhaled.   
‘Mine.’ he thought confidently. ‘Mine.’

She can’t leave.   
She can’t.

‘Mine. Mine. Mine.’   
  
Jon’s hand was about to move on its own accord to spread her legs to start his claim again.

Until his own gaze fell upon her sleeping face.   
  


The glistening moisture on her cheeks reminded him of her tears the night before.   
  


_I don’t know who you are, or why I let you have me._ _  
_ _I can’t do this anymore. We have to stop._ _  
_ _This is our end._

_Jon. Jon._

He placed the covers back on top of her body and held a hand over his chest for some moments before quitting her room. 

**_________________**

The crypts haven’t given him the solace that it used to once his birthright was made known and confirmed. Thus, he hasn’t visited since he deposed the Boltons from the castle. 

He decided to descend upon the dark steps of the tombs on his own to quell the war within his own beating heart after the council dismissed for the morning.   
  
Jon placed his lit torch on the empty handle beside his mother’s statue--which was now accompanied by tribute statues of the only father he’s ever known, Eddard Stark and his once brother, Robb.   
  
He studied her tribute for a time and inhaled deeply. Since she was a child, Arya has always been told that she looked like Lyanna Stark--and while he could concede some of the features that the statue held, he truly felt like it bore no justice as far as his little wolf’s beauty. 

In Jon’s mind--no one could ever hold a candle to Arya. This has been his heart’s beating cry since he was a young boy. Arya would always be the most beautiful girl he’s ever beheld. As a young girl with scabbed knees and frizzy hair, fussing about having to wear a dress, as a young woman who could gracefully wield both a dagger and a sword and as the woman who accepted him each night, though his hunger for her never sated. 

“I don’t really know why I’ve come to seek you--mother.” he started solemnly. “Since the truth of my birth was revealed, the darkness that has kept me company since my death just overpowered me and I can’t seem to--it doesn’t seem natural to fight it.”  
  
He sat leaned back against the stone wall across from them, expression unchanged. “You did leave me to be raised by the most honorable man I have ever known, and while I will forever be grateful, you probably already know that I’ve returned this favor by bringing dishonor to Winterfell each night, as I lay in sin with his favorite daughter.” 

  
“Father.” he paused. “I refuse to dishonor you further by lying to your grave. But since I was revealed to be a qualified suitor to Arya’s hand by my true birth status, the starved Dragon inside of me awoke and empowered the lingering darkness within me. If you’ve been watching over us, I at least hope that you witnessed the torturous pain I suffered in order to keep away from her, even if every part of my being called to claim her as mine. I feel no guilt nor shame for taking her now--I sometimes wish I did--but I seeked the deepest part of my heart and saw only her running through my veins. She is mine, always has been--always will be.”   
  
“I never wanted to be a King of anything--I only wanted her. Only her. I will give up anything for her, yet now…” his voice broke as tears clouded his eyes. He placed a gloved hand on the bridge of his nose. “She can’t accept who I’ve become. She wants to leave.”

“She wants to leave me.”  
“And I won’t be able to do anything about it.” 

He sobbed fearfully in his hand, not able to quell his shaking voice.   
  


“Robb--forgive me. I feel no guilt about claiming Arya, our--your, your sister. Absolutely none, for she is mine. I beg your forgiveness anyway. The crown I bear has always been yours, but now that I wield it in your name--I intend to give Arya her own beside mine, for she will remain the true Stark in Winterfell. There is no other future for us. I only hope that she accepts. Not just the crown which I know she loathes--but me.” 

“Gods, please let her accept me.” he whispered.

An urgent rustling of feet from the staircase forced Jon to steady his form and wipe the moisture from his face.   
  
He furiously turned to face Podrick with swollen eyes.   
  
“I thought I said that I was not to be disturbed?” 

“You did, Your Grace--with the exception of…”   
  
Jon’s eyes widened in disbelief. “She wouldn’t--I WAS NOT GONE LONG!”   
  
Podrick’s lip quivered. “She’s left her quarters--and is not in the practice field…”   
  
Jon left the crypt swiftly, with Podrick rushing to get to his side. 

From the far shadows of the crypt, Arya’s hooded form emerged, with similar tears in her eyes.

**________________**

“Your Grace, consider, please! She could’ve gone to Wintertown.” Sansa reasoned as herself, Bran and Tyrion followed Jon and Ser Davos to the vast land right outside the castle, renamed the Dragonwolf Pit. “There is no need to summon Rhaegal--you will raise concern among our people about a false war!”   
  
Jon gritted his teeth. “There WILL BE A REAL WAR if I don’t find her, Lady Stark. Now I ask you to move--or the dragon could flank you unintentionally.”   
  
“Arya would not run off without asking for leave!” Sansa argued, undeterred by her husband’s hand. “Unless…”   
  
Jon fisted his hand. “Unless what, Sansa?”   
  
Sansa raised a brow. “Did something happen for her to run off?”   
  
Jon turned away from her slowly. “Lord Tyrion, if you would take the Lady and Lord Stark--”   
  
“What did you do?” Sansa insisted. 

Jon turned to her angrily, prepared to wreak admonishment until a calm voice emerged from behind them.  
  
“Call off the dragon.” It was Arya’s voice. 

Relief immediately came upon Jon, his anger quelled--until he noticed that she wore travelling clothes--a quiet fear settled in. 

Sansa rushed to her sister and placed a kiss on her brow. “We were worried about you! Are you alright?”   
  
Arya nodded but she didn’t take her eyes off of Jon--his eyes remained agitated.   
  
She let go of her sister’s hand and slowly walked towards him.   
  
“Did you call him off?” she asked. 

“Are you leaving me?” He answered hoarsely, the remains of his heart beating rapidly.

To Jon’s great surprise, Arya sprung on her tiptoe and placed a longing kiss upon his lips in response--in front of the whole party.   
  
“Call him off.” She whispered on his lips when she parted and he bent down to press his forehead on hers. 

While Ser Davos and Lord Tyrion stared at their feet, and Bran remained expressionless, Sansa’s eyes widened--”What?”   
  
“Dearest, did you really not know?” Tyrion quipped. “We have been around them together--and if their constant unspoken tension wasn’t enough--His Grace summoned a war dragon because she disappeared for twenty minutes.”   
  
“I--of course, I hoped--but I didn’t know!” Sansa answered, her tone both disappointed and delighted at the public display. “It was always them. I just--I didn’t know…” 

“They’ve always belonged together.” Bran firmed. “It was going to happen eventually.”   
  
“Let’s give them some privacy.” Lord Davos proposed as he motioned for them to exit.   
  
The party exited quietly, not disturbing the moment between Jon and Arya, with a very reluctant Sansa in tow. 

Jon kissed her fervently again. “You’re not going to leave me. You’re not--”   
  
“Jon.” Arya called seeking his eyes to meet hers and she clasped his jaw on her palm. “I heard you--I heard you in the crypts…”   
  
Jon met her eyes. “That’s where you were? Why didn’t you--”   
  
“I meant to leave. I did. It got too much for me.” Arya confessed. “I went to bid them goodbye--but I heard what you had to say--and I suddenly felt ashamed.” 

Jon waited for her to elaborate.

“Everything that I have done to survive the years that we spent apart, was because of you. I wanted to come back to you. I was confident that you would want me, whatever I became, even if nobody else did--and when we reunited, you did. Without question.” 

Arya placed her hand on Jon’s chest. “I won’t lie to you--I can’t. I long for the brother that I held in my heart all those years--”   
  
“It’s still me, Arya… It’s still..”   
  
She placed her thumb on his lips. “I know--but like me, your own darkness was revealed to you in the journey and it’s not right to hide it. To be ashamed of it. You had to die to come back to me and I killed plenty to return to you. Forgive me for doubting the presence of Jon Snow under the new flamed crown of winter. But I embrace you--all of you.”   
  
Jon kissed her passionately and didn’t cease. “I can’t--I can’t just change back to who I was Arya--I wish I could, for you. I’d do anything for you. I can’t have you fear me--” 

  
“I don’t fear you.” Arya answered in between their kisses. “If I didn’t want your darkness, I could’ve killed you. You know this to be true.”   
  
“You want--”  
  
“I enjoy it.” Arya answered confidently.   
  
Jon held her face in his hands and seeked her eyes. “Do you love me?”   
  
Arya nodded.   
  
“Say it.”   
  
Arya moved to touch his lips with hers but he stepped back.

“Say it.” he asked again.  
  
Arya wrapped her arms around his neck to fold her legs around his hips.   
  
“I love you.”   
  
“Marry me.” he muttered, kissing her lips. “Marry me.” 

\----

**Epilogue**   
  


It’s been fourteen years since Jon cloaked Arya by the Godswood and everything in Winterfell seemed to be in order.

The Queen of the Six Kingdoms named their second born as her heir, and she eventually conceded that no threat was ever going to come from Jon as far as wanting to claim his rightful seat on the throne. 

Jon was perfectly happy with the only claim he cared about taking. 

He watched as Arya nursed their youngest son on their father’s old chair in his office, only six months old and already so big. Jon smiled at the image. Harlon looked exactly like his mother, with the exception of lighter brown hair.   
  
“Don’t even think about it.” Arya warned Jon as she covered her milk-filled breasts under the silk robe she wore and handed the sleeping boy to the nursemaid. “Take him to their quarters for a nap. Let me know as soon as Robb awakens or he will disturb this one’s slumber.” she whispered. 

  
“Of course, Your Grace.” the nursemaid responded and she exited the room.   
  


Jon and Arya had three sons, and they decided to keep them under the Stark name. Eddard, their eldest, is set to inherit the Kingdom of the North, shortly followed by the heir of the Six, Robb, and their youngest was Harlon.   
  


“I thought you were going to spar with Ed today?” Arya queried as she moved to polish Needle.  
  
“He went to play with Joanna and Jaimie.” Jon answered, eyes still gazing at her form.   
  
Joanna and Jaimie were Sansa and Tyrion’s twins. After many years of trying to conceive, Sansa lost all hope of being a mother. But shortly after Arya gave birth to Robb, Sansa’s womb quickened, and they were blessed with two healthy golden haired girls. 

“Jon…” she warned as she spotted him nearing from the corner of her eye. “Do you remember how quickly my womb quickened after Ed? We literally had Robb a year later.”   
  
Jon hummed as he moved her hair to the side and granted her small bites on her shoulder. 

  
“You know I can’t take moon tea while I still feed Harlon…” she continued, slowly mesmerized by his ministrations. “You can’t seem to manage to spill outside and…”   
  
“Jon…” she warned again when he untied her robe and exposed a breast. “Jon…” 

Jon moved to lick a nipple lewdly, and some of her milk dribbled on his chin.   
  
The sight caused Arya’s gaze to darken.

“If you really want me to stop--you have to stop saying my name, love.” Jon whispered, exposing her other swollen breast and taking it hungrily in his mouth.   
  
“Jon…” she cried.   
  
In a swift movement, he lifted her by her ass and placed her on his desk to claim. 

In less than a year after this, they were given twins of their own--a boy named Rickon, and finally, a girl they named Lyanna. 

**End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> My second Jonrya Prompt Challenge is finally wrapped! Ah! I can't tell you guys how much I tried to finish it to keep the theme per day, but alas, real life called and I couldn't do any of my tales justice if I just carelessly published them.
> 
> I have a question: Can I still do the prompts for Jonrya Week anyway, and just not tag or add it to collections? I hope my fellow writers would be forgiving about these questions! 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought--even if you disliked it. 
> 
> Much love to you guys! Also, if you have any songs that you listen to while you write/read, comment them below so I can add to my playlist! I listen to all kinds of music. 
> 
> Love, Love and SO MUCH LOVE OMG, 
> 
> Meesh.

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I thought about Arya's maiden blood falling on Cersei's decapitated head--but that made me laugh so I didn't. 
> 
> But I wanted you guys to know that I wanted to.
> 
> This is my second Jonrya Challenge EVER! 
> 
> Always let me know what you think! I love reading your comments. 
> 
> Love,  
> Meesh.


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